Watch Over Me
by SaberOwl
Summary: With the Second Omnic Crisis imminent and Talon's ominous rise to power, the future of Earth is looking bleak. But a certain one who, amidst the darkness, believes that the world can only get better decides to take justice into his own hands, and thus, the recall of the Overwatch Task Force commences. It will not be easy; multiple obstacles stand in the way. Will they rise or fall?


**Hello, Overwatchians! This is my attempt at writing all that has happened after the Overwatch Recall. This will be a long-term story with over 100k+ words so I hope you stick with me during the ride! I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

The soft grunt of a gorilla was all that could be heard in the dimly-lit room, barely illuminated by all the neon colors on various monitors and holopads. Various tools and technology were scattered on the ground, and numerous clicking and typing noises were all that could be heard. After Winston had initiated the recall, he had hurriedly relocated to a more private and secure base of operations: the abandoned Watchpoint: Dawnfront. It was shaped similarly to Gibraltar as was any Watchpoint, but the surroundings were different. It was extremely overgrown with grass, weeds, and flowers due to its abandonment, and it was generally surrounded by forestry. The reason is, the Gibraltar point was too easy to access by outsiders nowadays, and an example of that was Talon's raid with Reaper at their aid. It was just not safe.

Winston had been frantically cleaning and setting up the base for the arrival of the former agents who had hopefully received the alert, however, the task proved to be quite arduous, and the ape had been finding himself cutting his losses quite frequently. He sighed, adjusting his glasses as he swept through the halls of the Hangar Bay. He stopped for a second or two as an idea made it's way to his head, contemplating for a second. 'If only I had someone to zip around, which would get this strenuous task done in minutes...' The scientist turned his head suddenly, opening his mouth as if he was about to call someone but stopped instantly. "R-Right," He oddly adjusted his glasses once more out of embarrassment despite there being no one around, "Lena isn't here yet, but I'm fairly certain she'll be the first to come. Knowing her, I have no doubt." He said out loud, discarding the broom and sauntering towards the Communications Room, grabbing a banana along the way. Above all else, he started to check the location of all the former agents, and of course, Tracer was the nearest with the others not too far behind.

He suspected that in probably a day or two, the base would start getting livelier. With a small cough, Athena, his AI, had appeared on his monitored with her icon. With a few beeps and sounds of clicking, the shimmering blue lights of the icon had come to life, indicating her activation. "Welcome, Winston. What is the current status?" It asked. Winston smiled, peeling his banana as he mumbled his response,

"Of what?" Winston simply replied, smiling as he hopped onto his large wheeled chair. The lights within Athena's icon both dimmed and flickered rather incessantly, a testament to the AI's ability to show expression, it would seem. She was really keen on wanting to know if things were still going as smoothly as they both hoped they would go.

"The Recall of the Overwatch Task Force," She pressed on further, "Has it all gone as planned? Judging from the live camera feed, the agents have not yet arrived." Athena informed, and Winston hummed in response as he took a bite out of his banana,

The gorilla nodded, "For now, yes. I want to at least get into touch prior, however." Winston had started to type on his custom keyboard. It was true, he had been wanting to get in contact with everybody as soon as possible, but with the current technology he possessed, he had no way to. The only functioning form of communication was a simple phone call, but Winston did not know of them, or rather, he forgot. He could also contact them through the tracker devices which he used to locate everyone back at Gibraltar right after he initiated the Recall, but unless he had one himself, (He had left them back at Gibraltar.) attempting to do so would be futile.

Winston sighed as he started to reminisce his past with Overwatch. He remembered Tracer's spunk, the watchful Angela, the heroic Jack, the intelligent Torbjorn, the motherly Ana, the joyous demeanor of Reinhardt, the laid back attitude of McCree and well... Genji as well, despite his brood and tendency to distance himself while he was with the faction. He wondered if he would be able to gain back that family with the Recall. Regardless, whether he got it or not, the reason he did all this was more so for the betterment of the world. Everyone he knew was actively fighting Talon, but they were simply too powerful, and the only reasonable thing to do was to group up.

"Winston, have you made any form of contact with the agents?" Athena queried once more. Winston was about to shake his head, but merely scratched the side of his cheek.

He turned to face his other monitor that had Athena's icon and chuckled sheepishly, "Well, I have been in contact with one, but-"

The lights flickered once more, however, it was a bit brighter than it was prior. "I believe the one you're talking about is Lena Oxton. I didn't even need to check the data logs to know that one." Athena said in a rather playful, sarcastic voice. Winston laughed heartily, adjusting his glasses due to that a few seconds after. Taking another bite of his banana, the ape suddenly received an incoming call from none other than Tracer herself. _'Speak of the devil.'_ He mumbled as he gladly tapped the 'Y' holographic stationed in front of him.

Before Winston could even utter a syllable, Tracer had obviously spoke first. "Winston!" Tracer's cheerful tone rang in his ears pleasantly; he was overjoyed to talk to her once more. "How ya' faring, big guy? I happen to be nearing the end of my flight to Germany as of right now! I'll be there 'round midnight!" At the other end of the line, Tracer was grinning like a madman, and although she had nearly every passenger gazing at her rather annoyed, she carried on speaking quite loudly much to everyone's distaste. "I hope you're ready, I've got the biggest of surprises for ya', and no, it ain't a banana!" She giggled excessively when she heard Winston's sigh, though it held a bit of amusement within it.

"Lena, what could _you_ possibly have that would surprise me?" He asked quizzically. Judging from previous events with the spunky time-traveler, she would sometimes hand him heavy presents under the guise that it would be high-tech scientific equipment, only for it to be dozens of bananas. It was a good joke at first, but her incessant usage of that same joke annoyed him to no end.

"Ooh, that really the attitude ya' wanna give to me, ya' big lug?" She smirked from the other end, causing Winston to raise his brow in curiosity. "Oh well! More peanut butter for me, I guess!" The spunky girl guffawed almost immediately when she heard Winston gasp at that. Ever since he moved to Dawnfront, he had been relying on the towns that surrounded the destroyed Eichenwalde (Dawnfront was situated somewhere near Eichenwalde.) for food to eat. The shops there only served simple foods like bread, fish, fruit and the like, but he was out of luck when it came to finding peanut butter.

He coughed in an apologetic manner, "R-Right, no attitude, I promise." He said gently, making sure Tracer could hear his sincerity. This only added to Tracer's slight chuckles. "Anyways, any run-ins with everybody else?

Tracer shook her head rather solemnly, clearly quite miffed about that. She had been trying to get in contact with everyone else as well. She was hoping that they could surprise Winston (Provided she had found anyone.) Which she was sure would please the big guy. It would've been a nice moment! "I'm out of luck, sorry. Were they always this good at hide-and-seek?" She chuckled.

Winston snorted, crossing his arms. "I think anyone would be good at hide-and-seek if the whole world was their hiding grounds." Tracer hummed for a bit before resorting to a giggle. She then gave him a two-fingered wave with a warm, gentle smile.

"See ya' there, Winston. Can't wait to give you a big ole' hug, like old times, yeah?" Tracer gave him a toothy smile. She looked at all the passengers who were still giving her rough looks, and she sheepishly turned to face the camera once more. "S-Sorry, Winston! I think I disturbed everyone here quite enough. Bye!"

"Goodbye, Lena. I can't wait to see you too." Winston replied back with an equal amount of warmth, and Tracer promptly ended the call. The gorilla sighed, humming with a bit of glee knowing he'll be able to taste the resplendent taste that was peanut butter.

* * *

Reaper seethed with anger as the painful, post-fight regeneration kicked in. After the failed attack on Gibraltar, Talon had dismissed him for the time being and coldly left him to fend for himself. It wasn't that he was helpless or anything, but he hated that such a bad impression was left in his name. He shook his head apathetically. It was no matter, for he would surely end that damned ape sooner or later, and when he did, he would surely dispose of the old crew. His jet, which he was currently stationed inside, soundly landed on the outskirts of all the main settlements in Egypt, and he slowly limped outside.

He groaned a little, clutching his shock wound inflicted upon him by the Tesla cannon. He muttered every curse word he knew as he limped forward, eventually reaching a small warehouse. It was a little hideout that Reaper had frequented. It was barely decorated, and even so, most of these 'decorations' had a functional use and weren't purely for aesthetical reasons. He didn't have a kitchen, since he didn't need to eat, or a bed since he didn't need to sleep either. Such was a testament to how alienated he was to the rest of the human race. It was his curse.

He hastily entered the healing tank which was imbued to the brim with healing fluid, not even bothering to remove his combat clothing. While in there, Reaper started to muse. What was Winston even doing back there? He wondered. After the inevitable disbandment of the Overwatch, there would be no reason to even stay there. Both he and Talon went in not knowing he was there and came in there expecting to find Athena inactive so they could infect it with a virus, effectively revealing the locations of all known Overwatch watchpoints. They would also be able to data mine all of Overwatch's data and findings, using them for Talon's benefit. But alas, the inconveniences of life had to wear him down again, just like how it ruined his body. Inadvertently letting out a soft grunt, he stepped out of the healing tank. He was drenched in green liquid, but it all evaporated once a shadowy mist enveloped Reaper, whisking the liquid away.

There was a soft buzz in Reaper's ear: it was an incoming call from Talon. "What do they want?" His ominous voice muttered as he tapped it, accepting the call. Immediately, he was met with a soft yet intimidating voice. He narrowed his eyes; Reaper could already presume who it was.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Reaper..." The voice spoke rather soothingly. His attention aroused, he leaned against the warehouse walls and crossed his arms. "I have heard about your dismal failure back at the Watchpoint. Talon will not accept a failure to secure an opportunity as grand as that."

Reaper growled in response, "Need I remind you that your agents were utterly useless during the operation?" Widowmaker narrowed her eyes. It was rather true, she supposed. She had inspected the mission report and had found multiple injuries or deaths at the hand of one enraged gorilla. But it's not like they were expecting to see him anyway.

"We weren't expecting him." She shot back, her voice showing signs of irritation.

"You should be prepared for _anything_." He growled once more, ending the call out of frustration. He forcefully took the earpiece out of his ear and was about to crush it. He wasn't about to take crap from anyone associated with Talon at the moment. He didn't care for Talon's benefits or failures; he was only with them to fulfill his own personal agenda: to get revenge. Regardless, he knew he had to stay on their good side if he was to do just that. Suddenly, the earpiece buzzed in his hand, and mumbling a slight curse, he slipped it back into his ear.

"Reaper." He said simply. The voice on the other end sighed, though it held a bit of amusement as well.

"You have the tendency to overreact, it seems." Widowmaker pointed out, eliciting a grunt from Reaper once more. "No matter. The reason I call you is that Talon is scheduling for the capture of the Doomfist gauntlet."

"Great. More idiotic goons of yours to work with..." He frowned behind the mask. He wondered why Talon even bothered bringing in regular foot soldiers as his entourage for missions when he normally faced people with some sort of augmentations. Why Talon does not apply any of these to their soldiers, he did not know.

Widowmaker shook her head at the other end. "No 'goons'. It will be just you and me." Reaper, however, still resisted the urge to insult that fact as he liked to work alone. He liked to think that he performed better when there was no-one there to initiate useless conversations with him, and it inadvertently boosted his ego when he received praise on a mission that he completed alone.

"I suppose that will suffice. At least it's someone more akin to my caliber." Reaper stated.

"Hmph." Widowmaker simply uttered, "Numbani on November 1st. Eastern Wing of the Artifact Museum. I will send you our meet up and rendezvous point shortly." And with that, the call ended. This time, however, Reaper would be ready. He knew without a doubt that someone would show up to stop them, whether it would be the gorilla or any of the former, pesky Overwatch members. With the seed implanted in his mind, Reaper couldn't help but contemplate the events that led up to the infamous downfall. To _his_ downfall. He clenched his fists hard at the unfairness of it all.

So much had been taken from him: his position, his pride, and inadvertently, his friendships. Reaper ambled towards the broken mirror situated at the corner of the warehouse and sighed. Taking off his mask; his newfound identity, all that was left was his broken self, and not just his face either. He wasn't depressed or sad or any of the like, just angry. He was a mess, and he knew the cause and the solution. Slowly but surely, he would snuff the life out of the ones who wronged him or stood by and watched his descent to darkness.

He would reserve a special spot, however. One for the catalyst of his downfall. Reaper did not realize that he was clenching his fists so hard to the point that the spiked tips had dug into his flesh, soaking his gloves with crimson substance. But soon, his gloves would be soaked with the blood of _him_ , and all his little _'friends.'_ In a single swift motion, Reaper grabbed a worn vase and threw it to the ground with considerable force, concocting a loud screech. Breathing heavily, he held his head low.

Once he fulfilled his overarching objective, he would be free. His curse would finally be lifted.

* * *

The lone gaze of an old soldier stood fixated upon the waves that calmly thrashed towards the beach below, producing it's gentle and serene sound for all listeners to behold. However, he certainly wasn't there to stick around. Standing there was a middle-aged man with blonde hair, although a mass of gray invaded what once was a pure, beautiful blonde, signifying his age. On his face was a tactical visor with a streak of red light running across it, and a blue and black metallic mouth mask was also situated on it too. His clothing consisted of a jacket with a blue, white and black color palette with the bold, red letters of the numbers '76' on the back of his jacket.

He started to walk back into town, a mass of bodies slumped around him as he walked. Those bodies belonged to the Los Muertos gang, those who ran the streets of Dorado. Soldier 76 grumbled at the sight of these specimen; worthless vermin that polluted the streets. "Seems an old soldier's work is never done..." He glumly stated, kicking a lone baseball bat that happened to roll into his path from one of the gang members away. Although he had only arrived at Dorado rather recently, it was quite clear he had a lot of work to do. The Los Muertos were one of the most dangerous gangs in the world, and it seemed they were so chaotic that not even the state police could handle them.

He sighed. It's not like he could blame them. They possessed RPGs, miniguns, overall heavy firepower. Of course, he was rocking some firepower himself, but it was quite tiresome trying to take down a gang with many a member and too much weaponry. Nevertheless, he would not rest until the streets were safe. However, he would take a break from his vigilantism for now and restock before he could initiate his next raid on any other Los Muertos hideouts. However, the issue is, there was nothing he could restock with. All his ammo, biotic fields, and helix rockets had run out, and his Tactical Visor had run out of suitable batteries as well.

Cursing under his breath, he had to postpone his engagements with the gang. Sighing, the old soldier retreated to his base on the outskirts of Dorado. He soon reached an oddly noticeable patch of grass in the middle of nowhere and he slowly pressed his foot on it which opened it up. He descended into it via the stairs and reached a set of automatic doors which opened for him, revealing a pristine base of operations mostly colored white inside. Of course, he did not make this himself. It was lent to him by an old friend that used to be stationed here, and to that, he was grateful for.

He sat on a chair and sighed once more, carefully taking off his visor via some buttons and clips situated at the side of the face mask. Under the visor was the grizzled face of a man in his mid-forties. There was a long and thin scar running diagonally down his face, and a few white hairs had begun to grow on his head, signifying his increasing age. Jack fidgeted around for a little bit, not really one for standing around. He'd honestly rather be swiftly taking out gang members than be lounging around with nothing to do.

Soldier tapped his fingers incessantly on the arms of his chair; he was evidently an impatient man. _'Suppose I could do some planning at least. Pah, anything to do rather than unproductive idleness.'_ He essentially got up as soon as he sat down, ambling towards the desktop desk which held a monitor holding what seemed to be important information. Well, important enough that he'd want it to be bottled down in an underground bunker such as this.

He went over some files in the computer, taking down notes as he reviewed reports and battle tactics he could employ against formidable foes such as the Los Muertos Gang itself. As he done this, a familiar glint of light kept catching his eye, and choosing betwixt attending to it or continuing with his evaluation was an easy choice, but it's incessant flickering started to annoy him. However, when he saw it for what it was, he wished he never saw it. He supposed it was his fault, though. For keeping the darn thing.

Soldier flinched a little as he gazed into an old, ill-preserved photo. It had three men in it, a blonde man in a blue trenchcoat; The man's jovial radiance, despite the dismal palette the photo bore, was still crystal clear, and for some reason, Soldier felt rather disgusted at that.

Next was a Hispanic man wearing black combat armor and a beanie with a coy, toothy grin and his arms folded, looking at the former person in the photo. Soldier instinctively clutched the edges of the photo at that, but with a sigh, he released his grip before he would inadvertently tear the delicate picture.

And last of all was a man that towered over the other two, so much so that it was evident that the picture taker had to go back a couple of steps to capture the full extent of the man's height. He was quite old, with amazing white hair and a great beard to match, and from neck to toe he was covered in big, bulky and metallic power armor. It was like he was some sort of knight in shining armor, and quite literally at that.

76 sighed as he rested his head on the table and in turn, the picture. Then abruptly, in a brief fit of rage, he hurled the photo at the wall beside him and it made a resonating clang as it shattered to pieces. He huffed a little with some sweat beads forming on his forehead. It was obvious that he had a connection to the picture that triggered the reaction, but it was also evident that he was also trying to sever ties with such connection.

 _'I can't keep my mind focused on this. I have a mission to prepare for, and I won't compromise it with silly thoughts such as this.'_ 76 closed his eyes and let out a growl, _'I won't.'_ However, Soldier didn't know whether he was trying to convince himself that these 'thoughts' were silly. He cherished them, yet loathed them at the same time. These thoughts; he just didn't know what to do with them. Soldier shook his head in realization, _'No, the very reason I became what I am today is through no fault of my own, but these memories. I won't make the same mistakes again.'_ He growled again,

 _'I won't.'_ He repeated again.

Standing up, he advanced towards the bunker door. "I'm a soldier." He whispered to himself. "I don't need a damn gun to perform my duties." And with that, he was off.

* * *

 **And that's it for today, guys! I hope you enjoyed this little introductory and, I suppose, distastefully uneventful chapter. Well, on second thought, there wouldn't be any reason to enjoy such a chapter with such qualities, eh? Which is why I promise the real meat of this story will begin probably next chapter, and that's a definite promise.**

 **If anyone has any questions, big or small, I will be hosting a Q &A section at the top of every chapter regardless to answer your questions that are probably just gonna consist of 'IS THEREZ GON BE PHARMERCY?' or 'WIDOWTRACER NAO PLZ!?' and in both cases, it's a no, xD. Nothing against those ships, but I just don't think an acne-ridden teenager going through puberty's wet dream is gonna fuel the shipping in this story, LUL. Jokes aside, there will be shipping, but not the usual Tumblr ones. Mine's are more sensible in my opinion, PM if you really want to know. **

**Oh, and for all who wonder what I mean by long-term story, go and see Overwatch: Counter Strike fanfic and you'll know what I mean.**

 **Stay safe and pray to Seagull every night, kids!**

 **[QUOTE OF THE DAY: HEPPY HALLOWEEN HEPPY HALLOWEEN HEPPY HALLOWEEN HEPPY HALLOWEEN]**

 **-SaberOwl ;)**


End file.
